What's in a Name?
by cactusx33
Summary: Pierce and the boss reflect on why he won't tell anyone his real name. One shot, M for language only.


**Quick note on this story: I've always loved having the cockney voice in the last two games, but the plothole-conscious part of me never really got what a London geeza is doing as a gangbanger in the American Midwest. Sure, that's only the vpice the plastic surgeon gives, but the mute-ness of the character makes me assume tgat was his voice before. Thought I'd make my own backstory. I also wanted to reflect on why the Boss's trusted confidants don't even know his (or indeed her) name. So a bit of dialogue on that.**

**Enjoy!**

Pierce Washington stepped out of the plush Status Quo limousine as it stopped in front of the headquarters of the Saints. The building loomed above him, a monolith dominating the night sky. He waved to his driver absentmindedly.

"Thanks, Tony."

He'd considered employing a chopper to take him back from the docks, but decided against it. He'd been supervising some of Zimos's operations with Eastern European girls and was tired. But the Luchadores tended to shoot down anything with a dash of purple, and it was easier to out manoeuvre them when escaping on foot was an option.

He saw his boss in the penthouse, drinking a beer and staring out into the Steelport night. It was too cold for the resident soldiers to sit out on the balcony, but the bright lights on the horizon were something to behold even from thick glass.

"Pierce!" the boss said, indicating for him to sit down. "Beautiful night, ain't it?"

"We're rolling," he replied, making an 'OK' gesture. He sat down and grabbed a beer from the cool box near the couch. "Zimos is gonna turn a sweet profit."

"Isn't he coming back here?"

"Nah, he's doing his thing somewhere. Same as Shaundi. And Oleg." He looked around, as if looking for someone to contradict what he'd just said. "Just you and me tonight."

"Ain't I fucking privileged?" the boss retorted, chuckling. Sensing the defensive stare, he grinned and continued. "Nah, only joking, Piercy-boy."

Pierce laughed. "How stupid is that? You can turn my name into any kinda insult you want. I don't even know your name."

"That's how it goes."

"I think about that sometimes, ya know?" said Pierce, suddenly alert. "I mean, me and Shaundi, we're probably the closest thing to friends a whackjob like you can have. We know more about you than any of these guys here. And we don't know _anything_."

"What do you call me?" The boss asked. He finished his beer and sat back carefully, not entirely sure he liked this line of questioning.

"You. Or boss if I'm gonna be formal."

"And what do you call me when you're talking to Shaundi?"

"The boss."

"And to others outside of the gang?"

"My boss."

"See? Problem solved."

"But I still don't know why you won't say it," said Pierce.

"My name's got a history. That history is ancient to me.

"Why is that?" Pierce asked, after pausing for dramatic effect. "I mean, _come on_, man! I can tell you all you want to know about any fucker in this room. Born in Stillwater. Grew up in Stillwater. Maybe had a couple of terms at Stillwater U before deciding they preferred blasting motherfuckers in the face to fixing equations. Now they live in Steelport. If it was some mundane shit like that, I wouldn't mind. But, see, you're _British_, dude! And how you became an American gangbanger, that shit's _interesting_ to me, ya know?"

"I don't care," the boss replied, dismissively. "I keep myself in the present. I'm American in terms of what's important. Also, an eccentric criminal mastermind. Also, an absolute psycho without scruples. Also-"

"I get it," Pierce responded, raising a hand. "Come on. I should get a little. Only fair."

The boss sighed. "Alright. But if you ever turn state's evidence, keep this out of your statement."

"Honest Injuns."

He nodded "Fine. I grew up in London. Bethnal Green. Single mum. Old man fucked off out of the equation before I was even born. I grew up on this council estate. Wasn't much, but I had a few good laughs there. Was thinking about bringing the Saints down there if the heat ever picked up too much here, you know?"

Pierce nodded, but was silent. The boss continued. "Mum knew I was a little shit right from the word go. I was having fights in nursery school. By the time I was in secondary school, I'd hospitalised two kids. The school councillors said I had an advanced stage personality disorder, or some Freud shit like that. Same thing the prison quacks said after I knocked off my first off license."

"So you never had much doubt over your career." Pierce laughed. "For the record, I always knew you were crazy, man. But how'd you come to the US of A?"

"Coming to that. I got a little bit obsessed with my dad when I was a kid. Well, single parent kids got looked down on a fair bit more than they do now. My mum didn't know anything about him other than that he was American. No idea where, or what he did, but she did remember one thing. Stillwater."

"Uh huh?" Pierce sat up further, showing interest.

"I got fixated. Classic case. I started to read all about the city. I read a lot, ya know that? I never say nothing about it, but I do. Anyway. I saw Stillwater as a way I could find my dad at first, but then I really got to know the place. I read all sorts of books about it. Only problem was, how to get there? They'd never give me a visa; I had a criminal record as long as my dick by that time."

"So what'd you do?"

"I knew a bloke," he said impassively. "He had a lotta coke and it all needed to get into New York. I ain't gonna elaborate on how I smuggled the shit over, but the upshot was, I got some doctored papers and got to avoid immigration police."

"So, you're an illegal? And just cause you wanted to stay in Stillwater?"

"More or less."

"So what happened?"

"Destiny," said the boss, mysteriously. "I wanted to get involved in the fun side of the city as soon as I could. No sense looking for an office job if you're an illegal, right?" He grinned. "Funny thing was, I didn't have to look for trouble. It found me. There was a massive fucking brawl on the street I was walking down. I got saved by Julius Little. After that...I was in the Saints."

"Pierce nodded, understandingly. "How'd you get around the fact that you were British?"

"Didn't, really. I kept shtum for the first couple of months I was a member. Made 'em think I was mute or something. Didn't want anyone shopping me to immigration, did I?"

"I guess not." Pierce shrugged. "And I guess I know the rest. You get blown up, and get skin grafted into the ugly motherfucker I see before me now?"

"Long way down from the helipad, mate," the boss said with a wide grin, affectionately punching him on the arm. "Those prison docs were miracle workers. I get twice as many girls now."

"You can't multiply zero, dude," said Pierce, shifting to avoid his boss's punches. "But, shit. You shared, man. Doesn't it feel good to get it off your chest?"

"Guess it does," he responded, gruffly."

"Now what's your name?"

"None of your business. Now fuck off for a bit, I'm gonna sit in the jacuzzi for a bit."

Pierce did so, feeling an inward satisfaction that for a few moments, he'd managed to break the big man's terrifying reserve. He joined a conversation some of the guards were having, knowing that the boss would probably break both of his arms if he told a single soul what he'd just been given. For his own part, the boss smiled as he got undressed for the Jacuzzi. It wasn't often he got to think about Bethnal Green.


End file.
